Listen to My Voice
by Riyu Shimoji
Summary: The Harvest Goddess recounts her beginnings and tells a tale of her first and only love... with a mortal. Rated 'T' just in case. GoddessxJack, Jack x village girls.
1. Who I Am

Some legends say I was born as a star. I don't know if they think I fell from the sky, or what, but I was up there twinkling like a little diamond, just like the children's song goes.

Some say I started as a flower. A blue flower growing in an empty clearing, like center stage, with sparkling sapphire petals that glistened in the sun. A variation of this story was that it was beneath the shade of a tree that spirits slept inside, or that this flower was nourished with water that came from the Goddess Pond. What I _do_ know about this Goddess Pond thing is that one has been reserved for me, in each town that springs up every hundred years in this rural province.

And in recent decades, myths about me are either challenged or supported by religious parochial schools led by the same pastor figures. I'm rivaled by a nameless deity simply known as God. But if God is real, how can this church dispel "curses" found on artifacts discovered in the mines everyday? Do God and I coexist, or is one ignored in favor of the other? Fortunately, trends turn as time passes by, and eventually the parochial schools go back to revering me, erecting statues of me at their local festivals, praying and making offerings to me, and thanking me for the turn of the seasons.

I am close to turning two thousand years old. I am no longer able to ask my surroundings to recount how I was born, and these days I don't care to remember.

I may as well have been a fairy-tale baby that sprouted from a cabbage patch, or a tadpole that came out of a pond. But if you were a legendary goddess, immortal, beautiful, feared and respected by all, would the fact of your birth matter much to you?

As a child I was raised by the heavens, the earth, and all in between. I heard voices in my heart. When the trees rustled in the winds, they were telling me not to run so fast, to be careful. The mountains stood still, but proud, and smiled when I got up after I fell down. Flowers bloomed and peered up at me, insisting that I set an example. But there was also a set of strong arms -- strong, invisible, warm and supporting arms that would embrace me when I was lost in my thoughts. It was a force both maternal and paternal at the same time. I had listened so strongly to all the natural forces telling me, "One day you will be beautiful, and hold so much power, and you will live forever…" that when this happened, I always forgot to turn around and look for whomever it was sheltering me.

The world itself granted me Goddess Ponds because I liked to sit on the banks and dip my feet into its cool waters. I feared storms, and dreaded having to face them when I grew and faced my responsibilities. During such a natural disaster, the ponds always welcomed me. They were spacious enough so that I could sink in and sort of bury myself. The waters were always the same cool temperature. What made every Goddess Pond so mystical was the fact that they were empty. I had panicked so much during typhoons and blizzards that, in this makeshift shelter, I looked up and watched the surface, immersed in soothing blue, I didn't calm down long enough to wish that I had a fish or a turtle to keep me company.

So each pond like this became sacred. Hiding in the pond became a habit that lasted throughout my entire childhood, and Nature laughed at me, assigning me there permanently, and I would have to report there if a human had the good faith or superstition to try to find me. This was the price I had to pay upon reaching adolescence, for being afraid and shirking my duties as a child. Until then, I was a student of Nature. My job for hundreds of years was to communicate with my surroundings, to form a bond, to listen. Every day I would walk my rounds until I learned how to respect that which did not have literacy, or spoken language. I had to train my pure heart until the earth's emotions became my own.

The very best thing about being born and appointed the Harvest Goddess was that starting from my first day of official "existence", I was guaranteed eternal beauty. I do not remember a time when I was not adorned with silks and satins made of insubstantial elements: sheets woven of sunbeams, pearls hardened from dew, threads carefully plucked from currents of wind. I suppose that when I touch my body, I do feel skin. Maybe I even have a beating heart, and a bloodstream. The fabrics of my gowns feel indeed like fabrics. The blues and greens I wear really are inspired by the different hues of the sea in the changing seasons. I shudder to think that my hair was loomed from seaweed, or vine, and fortunately the color does change. I wear all the most pulchritudinous things that even man cannot hope to emulate.

What makes me sad is that, like a fictional ghost, I do wander like a spirit, and I cannot physically touch the clever structures built by man. It takes a borrowed act of Nature for me to open a door; I cannot reach for it and turn a doorknob myself. Like a hologram, the figure of my hand sluices through.

Even more distressing is that few mortals have ever _seen _me.

The forces that preceded me must have listened. Years progressed, but I only took sighs, unnoticing. On the brink of my adolescence, I suddenly had some other souls I could actually talk to. I was granted a Kappa creature, an amphibious mystical animal, cute and bulbous with a taste for mischief. Then came a creature I wished I could cuddle -- a towering mass of warm fur and muscle, a yeti called Mukumuku that guarded the snow-capped mountains in Winter. There were also fabled Keifu fairies that were perpetually dormant within a dying tree that was much older than myself, but I always considered them beyond my own jurisdiction. They were not fully my _siblings_, and I had assumed that there were other plans for them that would never concern me. So my new company, much more vibrant and alive, were definitely fine for my loneliness.

Contrary to popular belief, I never had a "throne" to ascend to. I came of age, more or less a thousand years, and those tough arms that reached out and embraced me as a child spoke to me without a voice. I was granted hundreds of servants called Harvest Sprites, and was promised hundreds, maybe even thousands more, in the years to come. Until this point, I was the only one that carried a humanoid image. I instantly loved these little guys -- their matching colored suits, pointed hats, and miniature statures. It was understood that my duty was to lead, and guide this area into many eras of peace and prosperity, to keep our land unscarred by humans. But with no one around at that time, I used the Harvest Sprites for my amusement. I had hundreds of different personalities to befriend, dances to watch, songs to listen to.

Soon after I had fully reached and had claimed my title as the Harvest Goddess, I decided that our solitude had lasted long enough. As a protector, I did have much to protect, but nothing to protect my realm _from_. I had listened to so much about humans, I was wary of so many precautions, but curiosity prevailed. I still think it will be a long time before I leave my childishness behind, knowing my own curious tendencies. I made the move to make this land's beauty stand out more, and appeal to humans, so that I might watch them myself and learn everything I wanted to know first-hand.

Experiencing _love_ was far from my list of plans.


	2. My Secret Phoenix

But before I tell you all about how I got tangled up in _love_, it goes back to a time when humans began to inhabit this province. The rural province, over which I maintain guardianship, is one strip of green land surrounded by mountains on all sides, a barrier harshly insurmountable by human life, and most animal life.

At that age I learned to mimic sparrows and other birds. I learned how to sing their songs, able to achieve their melodic high-pitched chirping noises. Wings outspread, they would soar toward me until I could reach up and touch them with my hands, my body taking sparrow's form, white and wispy like clouds. In this ghost-like form, I would have these magnificent birds escort me up and around these mountains. I monitored blossoms puckering open for the first time in the spring, and I would look down approvingly at the mountains' vegetation, of which only I knew the taste. I saw how the rivers twisted in thin lines, as if drawn by colored pencil. One day, I looked down at the base of the mountains, and focused on where they touched a patch of green. Human beings had answered our call, the Harvest Sprites' and mine. Someone had finally made it through the mountains, and set up a tent in the first clearing they reached.

I discovered that keeping these virgin lands as beautiful as possible didn't work on its own. I put a little cave in the mountains, and soon after, the Harvest Sprites cleared out as much as possible to form mines that descended deeper than I knew about, myself. Then I made sure to bless as many different rocks as I could inside -- with color and shine. It turned out there was monetary value in these gems as well, but that wasn't my intention. I was going for _intrigue_.

I spent weeks in that cave, watching closely as a handful of humans moved in and out of the tent. I determined that they were middle-aged men: short, stocky, muscular, rough-looking. They were bearded and a little unkempt, so I made sure to push them toward the river to bathe. When they flexed their muscles, I touched my own arms. When sweat rolled down their faces from working in the mine, I pretended to wipe my face too. I had a body that closely matched theirs, but unlike them, I had never thought of putting it to any use. Of course, it didn't take me long to decide that I really, really liked humans. Their emotions were expressed on the surface, easy to read. Through their own physical exertion and hard work, they constructed things that would have been effortless for me. I rewarded them with all the gems, minerals, wood, and food that they could ever ask for. This was how towns eventually developed.

But the cute, rustic villages that you see here today wouldn't have begun, were it not for the brave soul that happened to come by every century or so. Always it was an older man, strong for his age, with a beard but no hair on his head. He would have a big heart full of dreams, and was one of the first to devoutly believe that this land was shaped by the divine. This man wanted to give back to the land in his own way -- by cultivating life, in the fields and with the animals. Day by day he worked until the very end of his life to perfect his farm, and brought in a wonderful harvest, dedicating it all to me.

Needless to say, I lingered around his farm. Wishing so badly for him to succeed on his own, I did not interfere, but as he carried on about his chores every day, I knew he sensed my presence. But he didn't _want_ for very much in his life. He never asked to see me, to know who I am; instead he just _knew_, and was content with that. In return I made sure that he made the very best of his life, marrying the woman of his dreams, and having children to give the farm to. This man was just as much a savior as I was. We formed an unspoken partnership to help the land prosper.

It would carry on like this for several cycles, always a new farmer with the same dreams, always the same success. At each farmer's death, the village would commemorate him with the highest possible honors, never forgetting his value, or his dedication. But I got tired of seeing his family line fade away. I got tired of seeing him start over and over again as a man already past the age of fifty. Sometimes centuries would pass before another farmer came by again. I wanted something more steady and constant to rely on.

Nothing is greater than the miracle of birth, from the smallest hatchling to the most celebrated of human people. Who was I to interfere? I put my heart into it and would end up paying with my heart.

One of my greatest joys was watching the farmer's descendants as small children. When enough lifetimes passed and history started to repeat itself, it broke my heart watching these beautiful young children moving me to tears with their adorable playing, only to grow up and gravitate toward the allure of the city. So far, none of the descendants ever returned to restore their farmlands to their proper glory.

That was when I decided to give one special child the happiest time of his life, on his grandfather's farm. By that time, word had gotten around about me among the mortals. Prayers were formed, and I was thanked for not only every bountiful harvest, but every meal that I supposedly brought to every table. This child would grow up believing in my protection, respectful of the forces of Nature, inspired by me. His grandfather's death would sadden him, and when all rights to the farm were bestowed upon him, I made a daring gamble, almost sinful.

Nobody I grew up with had approved.

I gambled my life, the land's prosperity, and the youth's life, all on his success as a farmer.

I wanted him to rise over and over again, like a phoenix, teeming with the aura and energy of wonderful omens. And in exchange, I would grant him happiness for _all _of his lifetimes to come.

Waiting around for a new bloodline for decades was no longer working; in the long run, each grandfather's work was in vain. Every single time, the farm lands returned to weeds and brush. There had to be one hero to keep it going. Why didn't anyone see this but me?

"Quick," I asked one of my Harvest Sprites one day, "what is a common human name? Nobody must ever know that he has been Chosen."

I loved my loyal subjects deeply. Even though they were created that way, they all still held a special place in my heart. When the mountains, oceans, and clouds wanted me to keep out of the natural cycles of life and death, I insisted that this was what we needed to sustain our realm, and I could only rely on the strength in our numbers, even if they were all so small and had little say in anything, in the lowest ranks of our mystical realm's society. The Harvest Sprites stood by me, unquestioningly. That quirky little one I asked that day only pondered for a few seconds.

"Jack."


	3. Love in All its Forms

It was almost as if I had raised Jack myself.

Even all the villagers loved him. Starting from the time he could walk, I had little to no influence over what kind of child he had become. He was always wandering, from around the farmhouse, to around the fields, then to the streets where the shop owners treated him to sweets, to anywhere else his heart fancied. At the age of three, he met carpenters who lived by the mountains that gave him a tiny hammer, and trusted him with a few planks of wood, letting him mimic their work. Everyone loved him so much, and no one had the heart to even think of him as being in the way.

Jack was an adorable child. He had a round, cherubish face and tufts of delicate russet hair. His favorite thing to wear was his grandfather's old multicolored ball cap, and he wouldn't go anywhere without it. There was not a single person in the village who didn't have the privilege of enjoying his trusting smile. And how he loved to run! Beneath the oversized hat, one could only see his chubby arms and legs waving around everywhere.

Before he could speak, he would watch birds singing, and he would coo at them as if yearning to communicate with them. If he wanted to pick a beautiful flower, one of my Harvest Sprites would run over and try to explain the value of its delicate little life, though usually in a game of funny faces and hand gestures. He loved my Harvest Sprites, and in the mountains the carpenters would stare at him with puzzled looks on their faces. To their eyes, he was talking to and laughing at nothing but empty space.

A child with that much energy, of course, is bound to fall down… all the time. I calmed his fussing if he fell down by himself, and he would hush immediately, staring at me, _seeing _me, his chocolate eyes widened with fascination and wonder. I would blow on his scraped knee, and once he got home, I would see to it that any of his wounds healed immediately, within a day. I gave him miracle cures if he got sick, sent away the rain clouds when he had too much fun playing outside. If he found a wild animal that he wanted to hug like a plush toy, I would soothe it, and let it lay tranquil in his tiny arms until the boy was ready to put it down.

Once, he lingered by my pond and almost took a dive, tripping on his shoelaces. I gently grabbed him by the shoulders. Jack was just as elated as I was, to understand that only _he_ could see me. With a finger in his mouth and his eyes large and sparkling with curiosity, I was amazed at how easily the boy could move me to tears. Unable to do so myself, I pointed at his shoes and sat patiently, coaching him until he figured out what to do. Then, he crawled to a bush, pointed at my face, and pointed at a puffy light-blue hydrangea.

"Are you saying I look as pretty as a hydrangea, Jack?" I asked sweetly, a flush rising to my face.

Little Jack clapped his hands together and laughed merrily. His voice rang out clearly. No more than pure, innocent laughter. But what I recognized in his laughter was the same type of vibration that shook the roots of the oldest trees, when they rejoiced for the nourishment of heavy rain. I heard the song of the birds when they announced that one nest welcomed baby birds freshly hatched, after warmly protecting the eggs for so long. The vibration in Jack's laughter retold stories from a thousand years ago, of all the positives and negatives of nature, life, and all their wonders.

Sadly, I already knew how the story would have to go. With only so much I could do to a human child, I had doted on him too much already. They always went away one summer, and wouldn't come back until adolescence.

So the only thing I could do, once Jack hit age six, was ensure that he had an open mind and was receptive to _all_ voices around him. He would have to pay attention at the local school, at the church. He would have to sit still in the benches. I temporarily closed his ears to the wind and the earth, but didn't need to do a thing when it came to children his age. And, just as before, there were five little girls. One day he would have to come back and choose which one he wanted to marry. Over time I made it so that he carried special memories with one of the girls that I chose. I'd have them play together near my pond, share their secrets, and form a magical bond that only children can have, untainted by adult motives or doubt. I was granted special jurisdiction over only _one_ person's life, and I had to make it count. I had to make it perfect.

When that fateful day came, I watched with a broken heart. His human family, in my eyes, were merely vessels. Little Jack was _my_ baby, but he could never truly belong to me.

"You'll be back to play with her again next summer, I promise," his grandfather explained to him, lifting a tearful and frustrated Jack into his arms, rubbing his little back with his large, wrinkled hand.

The little girl would have tears in her eyes, too. She clutched at her pretend apron, practicing already to be his future wife, watching her simulated dreams of having a household together shatter temporarily. What if he never came back? I felt her pain.

"Then you can buy her a nice present in the city for when you come back!" the sweet old man suggested.

When the little girl's breath caught in her throat, so did mine. I crouched behind her and put my arms around her little chest, listening to her pulse, understanding how much she loved him now, and would continue to love him once he came back. Until then, I didn't want her to live with the pain. She'd have to temporarily forget.

I whispered, and she said as I dictated, in her honest, pure, naïve little voice:

"One day we'll get married for _real_, Jack! Don't forget!"

This was my first test.


End file.
